


Stillwater

by frecklesarechocolate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Food, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:50:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1233919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklesarechocolate/pseuds/frecklesarechocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean goes back to Stillwater, Montana looking to run into Sheriff Donna.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stillwater

**Author's Note:**

> I just thought Donna was the cutest ever, and I thought that she and Dean should have some fun together. Thanks to [Lis](http://clotpoleofthelord.tumblr.com) for being an awesome beta!

He goes back to Stillwater, Montana.

Yeah, it’s a thirteen hour drive, but he’s gone further on less sleep, and it’s not like anyone’s gonna miss him. 

He tries not to think about that too much.

The sun’s rising when he pulls back into town, and he idles outside the sheriff’s station, trying to decide whether he wants to go in or turn around and drive back. Or some other third option.

A tapping on his window shakes him out of his stupor.

“Agent?” 

Dean startles and grins when he sees Sheriff Donna Hanscum peering in at him. He rolls down the window, shivering slightly in the cool, early morning air. “Hey, Sheriff,” Dean says.

“Oh! Call me Donna. What can I do for you, Agent? I thought everything was all finished with…” she tilts her head in the general direction of the Canyon Valley spa.

“Oh, uh, yeah, no, that’s all wrapped up.” Dean turns off the ignition. “I just. Well, I thought I’d check in with you, see how you’re doing.” He opens the door and Donna steps aside to let him out. She’s got a bit of a crinkle in her forehead, not quite a frown, as she watches him emerge from the Impala. As if she can’t quite figure him out. Dean figures that’s par for the course, really. It’s not like they go back to places they’ve been - kind of an unspoken Winchester rule. You don’t go back to where you’ve been: causes uncomfortable questions.

But Dean’s gone beyond caring right now. He could give two craps about Winchester rules, and anyway, he’s got a pretty sheriff looking up at him with a puzzled smile on her face. He flashes her his most charming grin. 

“Oh, I’m just fine,” Donna says, flapping her hand. Her cheeks flush pink, and Dean’s reminded of how she looked in her fluffy robe at the spa, a sad, lost look on her face when she was talking about her ex. Dean wants to hunt that guy down and teach him a thing or two about being a gentleman.

Dean steps a little closer, just on the edge of her personal bubble, and lowers his voice so she has to lean in to hear him. “You sure?”

She smiles then, and it lights up her face. “I’m just fine, Agent, really.”

“Donna, please. Call me Dean.” He holds out his arm for her to take. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

She looks from his proffered arm up to his face, as if gaging to see if he’s really serious. He smiles again, and nods. Hesitation and eagerness fly across her face, but after a second, she slips her arm through his. “I’d like that, Dean.” 

* * *

 

They grab a couple of cups to go from the local diner, run by a grumpy guy named Scott. He hands Donna her coffee without her even asking, and eyes Dean warily. “Who’s this?” he barks.

“Oh, Scott,” Donna says, her face dimpling into a shy smile. “This is Dean. He’s with the FBI.” She leans forward and whispers loudly, “He and his partner helped us out with the trouble up at Canyon Valley.”

Scott raises an eyebrow when Donna mentions the FBI. “Yeah?” He takes a moment or two to look Dean over, and if Dean weren’t a grown-ass man, he’d feel a little like he was picking up a date for the prom. Well, if he’d gone to prom, he imagines that this is kind of what it would have felt like. When Scott’s finished with whatever inspection he was giving Dean, he grunts and asks Dean how he likes his coffee. He sniffs when Dean says he takes it black.

Dean can’t help but notice the lingering stare Scott gives Donna as they leave the diner, Dean holding the door open for her as they go.

They wander around town drinking their coffee, breath misting in the air. It’s not as cold as it could be, given that it’s late February in Montana, but Dean’s kind of wishing he’d brought a warmer jacket than the one he has on. A glance out of the corner of his eye shows that Donna’s not as bothered by the chill as he is, so he hunches his shoulders up towards his ears a bit and focuses in on what she’s saying.

“You know, Dean, I’m glad you came back, actually.”

“Oh?” Dean says. They’re walking arm in arm again, and she squeezes his elbow a bit. 

“Well, I wanted to thank you.” Donna takes a last sip of her coffee and tosses it into a trash can at the street corner. Dean swallows down the rest of his own coffee and she plucks the cup out of his hand and throws it away too.

“Thank me for what? We were just doin’ our job.”

Donna shakes her head, her blonde ponytail swinging a bit with the motion. “Not for that.” She realizes what that sounds like and her mouth opens into a wide “O”. “I didn’t mean it that way!” She covers her mouth. “I meant for what you said. About Doug?” She chews on her lower lip for a second. “It was a nice thing to say, and you didn’t have to.”

Dean clears his throat, not really sure what to say in response to this. “Wasn’t about being nice, Donna. Just the way I see it.”

Donna hums in agreement, and they walk a little further down the street. They come to a stop in front of a small white house with window boxes for flowers - currently empty - and a duck mail box, complete with turning wings. Donna makes a face at the mailbox. “Well, this is me.” She waits a beat and then says, in a rush, “Would you like to come in?”

Dean grins. “I would, very much.” Donna returns the smile as she guides him into her house. She leads him to the kitchen and insists he take a seat while she whips up some breakfast for them. She’s got eggs and bacon going in no time. 

“It’s maple bacon. This is a Stillwater specialty. You’re gonna love it!” She opens a cabinet to pull out some dishes to set the table with, but the clucks her tongue and shuts it, going into the dining room instead. She comes back with a few plates and some cups and saucers. Off white, the center of the plate has a circle of pretty blue flowers. “I never use the good stuff anymore,” she says quietly, like she’s embarrassed to bring out the nice china. Dean takes the plates from her, letting his fingers brush over hers lightly as he does. She looks up at him through her eyelashes, and her brown eyes widen.

Donna’s right, of course. The maple bacon is amazing, and her eggs are fantastic - fluffy and full of flavor in ways that Dean hasn’t experienced practically ever in his years at roadside diners. He makes appreciative noises from the first moment he puts a forkful in his mouth, and Donna beams at the praise.

They clean up together, bumping elbows at the sink, working in tandem. It doesn’t take long to clean up a couple of pans and some dishes, so they find themselves leaning against the counter staring at each other across the kitchen. 

Donna opens her mouth to say something just as Dean crosses to stand in front of her, and before he can convince himself this is a bad idea (it’s not. It’s a fantastic idea, and it’s why he’s here in the first place, isn’t it?), he cups her face in his hands and leans down to kiss her. She makes a brief, startled noise, but doesn’t pull away. In fact, she presses closer, her hands gripping his elbows for balance. 

She tastes of bacon and eggs, and he licks into her mouth, chasing after the maple flavor. She moans quietly, and he’s lost in the feel of her mouth beneath his. She’s soft and curvy, and she’s exactly what Dean wants and needs right now. 

He pulls away. A small sound of disappointment falls from her lips, but Dean brushes his own against hers to reassure her. He leans their foreheads together, letting his hands fall to the counter on either side of her hips. He asks in a low, husky voice, “Is this okay?” 

Startled, she can only stare, wide-eyed, at him for a moment. Then she nods, and stretches up to kiss him, pulling him down toward her with her hand firmly on the back of his head. He grabs her around her waist and props her up on the counter, pressing forward until they’re flush against one another.  She runs her fingers through his hair, and her hands settle at the nape of his neck, gently caressing. He melts into the touch, which is as affectionate as it is sexy, and he thinks to himself, _Man, I’m glad I decided to come back._

They kiss for what seems like hours, her perched on the counter, him pressing into her, tasting and nipping at each other’s mouths. It’s only after they both realize they desperately need to breathe that they break apart and stare at each other, panting. One of his hands has found its way up under her shirt, and his fingers trail across the skin just beneath her bra strap. They just stare at each other for a minute or two, smiling like a couple of goofballs.

She bites her lower lip again, and Dean thinks it’s adorable. He’s about to dip down for another taste of her mouth, now plump and red from kissing, but she stops him when she says, “Do you want to go upstairs?”

“God, yes,” Dean says, and he hoists her into his arms, walking her out of the kitchen and towards the stairway. She whoops with laughter and tightens her legs around his hips, pushing them even further together, and he can’t help but groan with the pressure, it feels so good. 

At the top of the stairs, he says, “Which way?” and she points to a door off to the left. It’s slightly ajar, so he nudges it open with his boot. He tips her onto the bed gently, and crawls up next to her. Lying on his side, he trails a finger down her cheek and dips in for a kiss. She makes an approving noise, grasping his shirt and pulling him close. She scrapes the nape of his neck with her blunt nails, cradling his head as they nip and lick at each other. When they shed their clothes, they toss shirts and pants over the side of the bed with little thought to where they land. It should be awkward, Dean thinks, but it isn't, it's comfortable, like they were always headed here. 

There's no sense of urgency, either. They take their time to explore each other's bodies, pausing over scars, sharing stories as they go. Dean doesn't have to lie completely about his scars, talking about monsters and not correcting her assumption that he means human monsters. He mouths at a bullet wound on her shoulder, his tongue soothing the old injury as she arches into his touch. She hovers over the scars on his arms - criss-crossing slashes where he'd sliced his own skin in aid of a ritual or proof of his status as fully human. Soft lips ghost over these marks, and his flesh goose pimples under her ministrations. 

He runs his hands over her slightly rounded belly, kissing and licking at her soft skin, noting her tiny gasps of pleasure as he goes. Each sound urges him on, until his hands brace her knees. He looks up at her then, eyes hooded, and her answering moan is all the encouragement he needs. 

Hot and slick, she writhes under his tongue, and he settles in. She hooks her heels over his head, runs her fingers through his hair, beautiful little whimpering sounds falling from her lips all the while. Just when he thinks he could stay between her legs forever, she tugs on him, pulling until he’s lying on top of her. Pupils blown wide, she stares at him for a moment before licking into his mouth, tasting herself on his tongue. He can’t help but groan at that, it’s so unbelievably sexy. They lose themselves in each other, tasting, nibbling, touching, exploring each other’s bodies. He wants to spend days in her soft valleys and ages on the peaks of her breasts. 

When Donna rises up over Dean, her long hair flowing over her shoulders, he’s speechless with how gorgeous she is, her eyes dark with lust. She lowers herself onto him, so slowly he thinks he’s going to die. It’s been so long since he’s done this - too long, and he’s afraid he won’t last. 

“God. You’re perfect,” he murmurs, and she laughs with the joy of it. Her pubic bone comes to rest on top of him, the light hairs between her legs tickling at his skin, and he stares up in awe. She begins to ride him, then, hot, wet, and his brain fizzles at the sensation. She bites at her lip, the pink of her tongue peeking out from her mouth as she chases after her orgasm. Shifting so she’s bent over him, she clasps their hands together, kissing him while her hair falls around them like a waterfall. Her movements grow more erratic, and then he’s coming, pulsing hard and fast into the condom. She slips her fingers between them and rides out his orgasm, tipping over herself a moment later. 

Donna collapses on top of him, and they lie still, hot and sweaty, panting for a few moments. Dean runs his hand through her hair, and she hums a note of approval. They pull apart, and when they’re face-to-face, looking each other in the eye, she grins at him, presses a kiss to the side of his mouth. She eyes him for a moment, and then rolls over, snuggling into his side with a smile on her face.

He grins back at her and can’t resist asking, “Next time, wear your sheriff’s hat?”

She bursts into laughter and nods a little shyly. “Ok, but you’re making lunch first.”

“I can do that,” he says, kissing her again. 


End file.
